Disappointment and Hope

Rarely have I found the first part of a book so good only to be deeply disappointed by the rest. I was looking forward to Owen Wister’s The Virginian, having heard that it was the first western (i.e. cowboy) novel; I was ready to find Wister an unjustly forgotten American author like Kenneth Roberts. And my first couple of says with the book confirmed my prognosis. Wister offers poetic descriptions of the West and keen observations of the characters: for instance, it’s a surprise to the first-person narrator that one cowboy can call another a son of a — (Wister uses the dash!) and have it received as a term of endearment. He also establishes a classic cowboy trope in 1902 when an enemy calls the Virginian an SoB. The Virginian pulls out his pistol, lays it on the table, and says, “Smile when you call me that.” The saloon gets quiet for a couple of seconds until everyone sees that no violence will ensue. Then the mingled noise of music, cards, and revelry returns. How many times have we seen that scene in movies and on television!

But things turned sour on the third day. First, Wister says that Equality means an equal chance for everyone to show how unequal he is. And then, of course, he has to try to redefine Christianity: “As soon as you treat men as your brothers, they are ready to acknowledge you – if you deserve it – as their superior. That’s the whole bottom of Christianity.” And there’s a very distasteful scene in which the manly Virginian humiliates a missionary by seeming to go along with his program, wrestling with his sin nature all of one night, only to laugh at him in the morning and go about his way, displaying true Christianity by showing how superior he is. That’s Wister’s disgusting idea of a hero. From then on the book just gets boring, with the cowboy getting moony about a girl, and continued trouble with the predictable villain. Oh, and there’s an attack from Indians who are called “peaceful” (with the quotation marks).

But now, just today, the day before I finish this novel, I was starting to think that maybe I had let some moments I disagreed with spoil a book I could have been enjoying if I hadn’t read in protest. (As to why I read books I don’t like “in protest,” that’s the topic for another post, I suppose.) But then the Virginian gave his girlfriend a lesson in civics, as if she hadn’t learned in school that the power of government by courts comes from the people. But, of course, women can’t be expected to retain, let alone, understand such things. That’s why we don’t let them vote! Then the narrator gave the reader, in a condescending tone, a lesson that one might do evil in order to achieve good, giving the example that one might correctly trespass in order to stop a murder, as if we readers don’t know that. And this was in defense of cowboys lynching cattle thieves, supposedly because the corrupt courts give them no other choice: as if killing a man to prevent thieving is just like trespassing to prevent killing a man. Then the final showdown with villain is set up, and Wister pulls back his flimsy curtain with one sentence: “It is only the great mediocrity that goes to law in these personal matters.” So much for Christianity boiling down to treating men as brothers. So much for respecting the authority of any court. We’re back to democracy meaning an arena where the best can win over the lesser. And apparently men always prove superior to women, and white men always prove superior to Indians. Seems to me I’ve read about some lies the white man told the Indian. But never mind that. It’s the Indians who lie so much they are only described as quote-peaceful-endquote. And remember: all this superiority is true Christianity. Wow! The Virginian just fell deeper and deeper into a foul-smelling pit today.

But I’ll be done with it tomorrow. And I know I have some much better reading coming up. Soon I’ll be starting to reread Orlando Furioso, the book that started my whole reading project. There’s also some Anthony Trollope coming up later this year and, in November or December, one of my very favorite books: Charles Williams’s Many Dimensions. (The novel is so much better than the title!) I also have high hopes for Grimm’s Tales and Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love. Consequently, you can hope for some happier posts in the next few months.